


Declination

by Makairia



Series: AvengerKink meme fills [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Brief unintentional (and unknown) victim blaming, Clint's a very happy camper, Dom!Tony, Flogging, Kinda? Not too sure of the vernacular on that one sorry, M/M, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Tony is just as protective as Steve, light rope bondage, sub!clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makairia/pseuds/Makairia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avengerkink prompt</p><blockquote>
  <p>Thor, Steve, or whoever you deem appropriate is just walking down the hall, minding his own business, when he hears a cry of pain coming from another room. He barges in, asking if anyone needs help, to the sight of Clint apparently being abused (whipped, tied up, anything) by his partner. Being slightly naive about kinky sex, and of course protective of his teammate, he leaps into action.</p>
  <p>Cue awkward explanations from Clint/whoever he's with.</p>
</blockquote><p>
  <i>“Hands.” Clint obediently held out his hands, and gripped the smooth, white rope given to him, walking to the left wall when prompted by Tony’s hand on his back, and finally relinquishing the rope once Tony deemed their destination satisfactory. “Arms up.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Declination

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt is [here](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/13316.html?thread=31131908#t31131908)
> 
> So, this turned out to be more serious than awkward, and deviated a bit from the prompt...(sorry OP! D:)
> 
> Additional warnings (and if you feel I've missed any, please let me know!): This may or may not be representative of actual BDSM. I do not know. I took artistic liberties. Please treat this as an artistic interpretation and not how it may or may not work in real life.
> 
> This hasn't really been edited, so I apologize in advance for any errors.

“Do you remember your safe word?”

“Yes.”

“Say it for me.” Clint rolled his eyes, and leveled a flat stare as best he could from over his shoulder. “Clint. You either answer, or we stop. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Tony.” The tightening around Tony’s eyes abated, and his shoulders slumped slightly in relaxation.

“Mmkay. Say it for me.”

“Declination.”

A soft, nearly inaudible breath of air escaped Tony’s lips, slurring into the first word like an irreverent prayer.

“ _…Good._ Tonight, you have two options: we can stay here where someone from the team may walk in on us, but you’ll get the rope; or, we can move back to our room, but you will be bound by only my will and yours, where any mistakes will be heavily punished. Which would you prefer?” Being bound by intangible thought sent pleased vibrations throughout Clint’s body, but never let it be said that he wasn’t an exhibitionist.

“I need – I need the rope, Tony, please,” Clint’s eyes were already dilated, and well on their way to the glassiness brought about by the knowledge that he didn’t have to think anymore; he was safe with Tony, and Tony would never hurt Clint (well, not in a way that Clint didn’t want – didn’t need – anyway).

Tony ran a hand through Clint’s hair, told him to stay put, and rummaged around in closet just out of Clint’s view.

“Hands.” Clint obediently held out his hands, and gripped the smooth, white rope given to him, walking to the left wall when prompted by Tony’s hand on his back, and finally relinquishing the rope once Tony deemed their destination satisfactory. “Arms up.”

Clint was only vaguely aware of Tony manipulating his body and the rope around so that his arms were tied together in a mocking parody of prayer, and attached to a deceptively weak-looking hook in the wall. At any other point, Clint would make a sex dungeon joke, but right now he was adrift in the contradictory feeling of hyperawareness and clouded consciousness that flowed around inside his head.

The knots themselves were beautiful in their elegant simplicity, starting a third of the way up his forearm, bunching around his wrists, and smoothly transitioning to the space in between Clint’s arms, cinching the rope into a snug caress. But, despite care taken into tying the rope around Clint, the actual finished piece was simple enough to escape, especially to a trained agent. But Clint knew, even deep in his haze, why.

It was all about Tony’s love of power games: simultaneously in control of the situation, while knowing that he was toeing the line with Clint’s ability of escaping most anything Tony could safely conceive of.

Pulled taught by the hook, back to Tony, and the door just at the edge of his vision, all emphasis was focused on Clint’s arms and bare chest (huh. When did that happen?), his head bowed, and clad in the black pants everyone had grown incredibly used to seeing Clint don on a daily basis.

“It’s my choice of punishment tonight. We will go until I stop. You may be vocal, but you may not scream. But above all else, you can _not_ come. Am I understood?” Clint’s breathing hitched, and his arousal continued its slow burn through his body, jumping a little at Tony’s tone.

“Yes, Tony.”

“Good. You will receive three sets of five, and end each with the number and ‘thank you, Tony.’ Am I understood?” If it was at all possible, Clint managed to both tense and relax at those words.

“Yes, Tony.”

“ _Good._ ” Tony’s voice was a breathy rumble; soft in sharp contrast to his next action.

When the first strike hit, Clint sucked in a breath. The heavier hiss before impact hinting at Tony’s favored cat o’ nine tails. Beautiful, white-hot pain bloomed across Clint’s back, always careful not to break the skin…much. And, even though this is what Clint wanted – what Clint _needed_ – the first strike always made his voice catch.

“O-one. Thank you, Tony.” Eyes completely glassed over, and the red burn of humiliation splashed across his cheekbones, Clint fell deeper and deeper into the trance. He knew what it was called, but he had always called it _his space_. This was his time to go and not think and not be attentive and not be responsible. It was Clint’s space. No one was allowed to touch it (except Tony). So, of course it would be then that someone else would intrude on Clint’s space.

“You’re doing so well, Clint.” Tony hummed low in his throat. “Such a good job. Such a good boy. Almost done.” Without waiting for a response, the final strike crossed over the burning skin, angry red welts already formed and well on their way to displaying their displeasure.

Clint groaned before speaking up.

“Fifteen. Thank you, Tony.”

Clint was gone; the line between pain and pleasure smeared and blurred so badly the two simply coexisted together.

And that was when Steve Rogers burst into the (admittedly purposely unlocked) room. Great.

“I heard noises, and wanted to see if everything was oka – Tony! What the h – _Clint!?_ God, are you okay? _What the hell is going on here?_ ”

“Hey, Cap. I get what this may look like to you, but I really need you to go. Like, now.” It was only due to the severity of Tony’s tone and expression, along with Steve’s ~~misplaced?~~ trust in Tony, and the knowledge that Clint could have escaped if he really wanted to that Steve acquiesced. Barely. Steve was self-aware enough to know that if he didn’t leave nigh on immediately, he’d probably end up doing something regrettable.

“Listen, Tony. After you’re done doing…whatever you’re doing. We need to talk. I’ll be in the conference room. This is non-negotiable.” Steve’s voice was tight, yet controlled and even, hands twitching minutely, as if in an attempt to physically strangle out his anger. Steve never liked bullies, and he was fiercely loyal to his team. If Clint and Tony were having issues, it would _have_ to be worked out before it affected them on the field (and definitely before Steve inner voice of reason gave out and he ripped Tony a new one. Yeah, the twenty-first century was different, but this – whips and rope and he’s pretty sure Clint was _crying_ at one point and Tony’s laser-like focus and _oh god_ he left Clint alone _what the hell was he thinking?_ )

The whole exchange lasted less than a minute, and Tony did what he could to keep Clint from dropping too quickly, but had to balance out what he figured would get him the least amount of flak from Steve in his momma bear mode. Which left him with light touches around the unaffected neck and shoulder area, and running his fingers through Clint’s sweat-soaked hair. But he had to work fast and efficiently to keep from breaking the status quo.

“You’re so good to me, Clint. That’s it; just relax. I’ve got you. Just let me do this for you. You’ve been such a good boy. I know I never say it enough, and I’m shit at showing it, but I love you. I really do. You’re…you’re one of the best things that has ever happened to me, and I worry that I’m not treating you like you deserve to be. But I’m a selfish man. So I’ll take everything you give me, and give everything I can back. I just…I just hope it’s enough. That’s right, babe. Come on back to me.” Tony worked Clint out of the rope, managed to gently – if gracelessly – slide the two of them into a sitting position, and gently massaged Clint’s arms, while still murmuring sweet nothings.

“Are you back with me, Clint?” Clint blinked languidly, still content in his space, but much more cognizant than five minutes prior, his head turning slightly to glance at Tony, before a sweet smile stretched the tips of his mouth (he’d deny it later on pain of death). “That’s right. Just ease out on your own time. I’ve got you.”

Tony groped blindly behind him, reaching for the water bottle he brought along with the rope from earlier, twisting off the cap, and slowly tilting it to Clint’s waiting mouth. Clint drained the bottle over a handful of sips and gulps, coming a little farther out his space, but still rooted gently in the lull of murky hyperawareness.

With Tony’s help, Clint managed to crawl onto the bed, laying on his stomach as to avoid irritating the mess of red and white precise lines crisscrossing his back.

Tony laid next to Clint, hand idly playing with the short strands of Clint’s hair, while Clint’s eyes drooped more and more.

“I need to talk to Captain Momma Bear. Are you okay on your own, or do you want me to stay with you?” Clint opened his eyes enough to look at Tony, before drooping again, his voice coming out almost dreamy and haze-like.

“’m okay. Go talk to Steve ’fore he comple’ly freaks out. Just…be here when I wake up?”

“’course, babe. Sleep well, I’ll be right back. We’ll bandage you later, mmkay?” Clint’s response was nothing more than an exhalation of breath.

Tony took an extra ten minutes to clean up both himself, and the props left out (recoiling the rope, hanging the whip, and washing his face) before heading down to the conference-room-turned-avenger’s-meeting-room.

\---

Steve really didn’t expect Tony to come right away, but he also wasn’t quite prepared to be kept waiting for nearly a half-hour.

He’d gone over nearly forty different responses planned for when he did speak to Tony, ranging from kicking him off the team (in the beginning, when the anger and contempt had peaked) to his now more rational talk-it-through approach. (He wasn’t even remotely ashamed at his own intensity. Clint’s part of _his_ team; one of _his_ people; and _his_ friend. Steve Rogers protects his own.)

At the sound of Tony’s footsteps, Steve stood up and leaned against the nearest wall, waiting. But, before he could speak up, Tony took the initiative.

“Alright. So, here’s the thing. I’ll tell you what I feel like telling you about what pertains to me, but Clint’s business is his own. Say what you want about me and my inclinations or habits, but if one word gets out to Clint about this, if you even _slightly_ imply that what he likes is wrong, if you can _not_ act in a professional manner around him and make him uncomfortable? _I will make your life a living hell._ Am I understood.” Tony’s voice booked no argument, though it conflicted with his body language: posture at ease and relaxed in a way that hinted at something sharp and dark just lurking beneath the surface.

“Just what in sam hell was going on back there, Stark?” Despite the extra time to calm down, Steve’s eyes were flint: hard and unyielding. Tony sighed a little before speaking.

“Clint and I have a…well, what we call an informal BDSM relationship: _bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadist and masochism_ , essentially. It only pertains to our personal lives and you will never see either of us use it on the field.” As Tony explained, Steve didn’t physically move, but something softened a bit, and he began to almost relax. “For us, it basically means that sometimes Clint needs to give up control; he needs to not be responsible for some facet of his life. And sometimes I need to take control; to not be questioned and to have my every whim followed down to the letter. Sometimes it’s the other way around, and Clint needs to not have his every word and action smeared by doubt. And, believe it or not, sometimes I like to be ordered around.” Steve gave Tony an appraising look, not even a light dusting of rosy hues across his nose and cheekbones belying the still-serious atmosphere.

“Is he okay with what you’re doing? Everything’s,” Steve paused for a moment, making sure to get the term right, “ _safe, sane, and consensual_ , right?” Tony gave a short, not-quite humorless laugh.

“Oh, someone’s been doing their homework, huh? Nah. You really think the terms ‘safe’ and ‘sane’ apply to either of us? Hell, I don’t think those labels fit any of the Avengers, really. We suit up near daily and fight magic monsters and aliens and fuckin’ mutants. Anyway, Clint and I? We run more along the lines of ‘risk aware.’ Again, kinda applies to all of the Avengers. Since, y’know, we’re all suiting up more-or-less _willingly_ to fight goddamn aliens.” Tony hummed.

“Alright, Captain Overprotective. I’ll leave you with that to chew on; I have somewhere to be. Let’s have this conversation again never, mmkay?” Tony paused before turning out of the room, eyes sharp and dark. “But seriously. If you even remotely fuck with Clint, I will wreck you. Understood?” Without waiting for a response, Tony turned on his heel, and walked out the same way he came in. Steve let Tony leave, words and phrases like “give up control” and “need” and Tony’s posture screaming protection mulling around in his head.

\---

Clint woke up to a lovely stinging throb all across his back, and the even nicer feeling of Tony’s fingers carding through his hair. Mmmyeah. Life was good.

“So how’d your talk with Cappy-pants go?” Clint’s voice was rumbly with sleep, and slightly hoarse. The crinkly smile he got out of Tony made everything slight against him _so_ worth it, and it warmed some deep and usually forgotten place inside the cockles of Clint’s heart.

“Ah, well. As good as it was to be expected, all things considered. I’m still in one piece, no bleeding, and no concussion, so…” Clint gave him an unimpressed look, but from his vantage point on his stomach and sleep-mussed hair (it really didn’t take long at all, something Tony reveled in) it wasn’t incredibly effective.

“I feel like I need to tell you just how skewed your definition of ‘good’ is.” Tony didn’t even look chagrined.

“Well, I’m still here, so I’ve gotta be doing something right, yeah? Here, open up.” Clint half-opened his mouth before he was even consciously aware of it, and the sweet and tangy burst of dried mango assaulted his tongue. Mango today? Huh. That’s new.

Clint chewed absentmindedly, opening up again when another piece of fruit nudged gently at his lips. Say what you will, _this_ was Clint’s favorite part; that gentle side to Tony that was usually guarded so closely behind layers of biting sarcasm and sharp wit. And it was all his.

Yeah, Clint could live like this.

**Author's Note:**

> *Steve really didn't mean anything negative by the comment that (should it have been non-consensual) Clint could have escaped on his own. His reasoning was that Clint could easily overpower Tony without his suit. I didn't mean for him to come off as a victim blamer, and that wasn't what I was going for; he was trying to assuage his own consciousness and not kill Tony.
> 
> Clint's safeword really has no relation to the story; I just like how it sounded. ^^;
> 
> I want to add a little blurb of a scene with Clint and Steve talking, but I don't know if I'll ever get around to it. Maybe. Maybe not. ^^


End file.
